


Presents A Claim Invisible

by thebittermountain



Series: And They Shine With The Light Of Other Worlds [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types, Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, BAMF Peter Pevensie, BAMF Pevensies, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Everyone is Queer, F/M, Gender-Fluid Character, Gender-Fluid Edmund Pevensie, M/M, Minor Character Death, Multi, Near Death Experiences, Other, Overprotective Family, POV Aedan, POV Peter, Period Typical Attitudes, Queer Peter Pevensie, Soldier Peter Pevensie, The Pevensies as Small Gods, World War II, if it gets really bad i'll tag more specifically, in general, mostly - Freeform, some people have them stronger than others, war romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2019-07-25
Packaged: 2019-09-25 05:42:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17115503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebittermountain/pseuds/thebittermountain
Summary: In Which Peter Pevensie falls in love (again), gains a new command, meets Captain America, befriends Russian Night Witches, and introduces his new love to his family. Not all in that precise order.





	1. For Fear of Little Men

**Author's Note:**

> I labeled this mature because it's during war, the Pevensie in this universe can be pretty ruthless, and violence is never pretty, and unfortunately there's more than a bit of violence (again, war). Also, there will be some sex, that won't necessarily be explicit, but will be described, so, I decided, better safe than sorry.

_January 1943, North Africa_

Aedan O’Brien didn’t consider himself very superstitious. Not more than any other Irishman, though perhaps more or less than some. Nonetheless, like most of the 56th, he’d heard the rumors about their new commanding officer. Naturally they needed one after Captain Drummond had gone and gotten himself killed. But Captain Pevensie seemed rather interesting. Odd, even for an officer.

For one thing, he was middle class, and in no way connected to nobility, though he was well off enough that his family could pay for a commission, clearly. For another, most of the commanding officers seemed to be almost frightened of him. The rumors floating around camp suggested the man was ruthless, far too comfortable with blood and efficiency for an officer, a gentleman, an Englishman. Aedan did have to shake his head a bit at that. Some of the officers had served in the Great War. Didn’t they realize war wasn’t a structured game with rules of conduct anymore? Hell, their service here should have taught them that, even if the Great War hadn’t. Nonetheless, Pevensie clearly made more than a few of the officers uneasy with his violence. On the other hand, despite those plentiful rumors, Aedan had received a letter from his cousin Ciaran, who, strangely enough, had served under Pevensie’s previous command.

_A.,_

_I hear your regiment’s the one taking the Captain away from us. I have to admit, us enlisted are jealous of you and your regiment, cousin. The Captain is brilliant, and he is nothing like the usual noble nancys. He’s actually worth loyalty and gives orders that make sense. He always puts the men first too._

But after lauding Pevensie, Ciaran’s letter took a turn for the odd and superstitious.

_…remember the stories of the Tuatha De Dannan Nana used to tell us about when she watched us as little ones? Not the pretty stories, but the ones of war and revenge like Cuchulainn or the Firbolg? I’m not saying the Captain is one of the Good Folk. If he is, it’s certainly not ours. His family is English to the bone. But…he moves a little too fast for a human, he never prays to God, though he will say blessings, and his mannerisms are more than a bit peculiar for an Englishman. Even one who’d lived elsewhere in the Empire. Which he hasn’t. Nana used to tell us about the Sight too, remember? And she told us it ran strong in both her and Grandda’s lines. Well, the Captain’s age isn’t the one it seems. He should be only eighteen or so. If I didn’t know, I’d say he was thirty or more. You probably think I’ve lost it with the stress of the war, and should go see a priest, I know. Just…trust the Captain to have your back, but don’t ask him for anything you don’t know the conditions. And for love of Mother Mary, please do not flirt with him. That can only end badly, if only for the fact that he’s a Captain and you’re a Sergeant._

_Love, C._

_P.S. If you get leave first, give Mam, Aunt Maureen, and Dorothy my love._

So, all in all, Aedan wasn’t sure what to think. He was more than a little skeptical of his cousin’s claim that his new Captain was one of the Good Folk. He had loved his grandmother’s stories just as well as the other man. That didn’t mean he really believed them. But, there were the rumors around camp.

Eventually, he just decided to keep an open-mind, but be somewhat on his guard. After all, Ciaran had praised Captain Pevensie as a leader and commander.

When Captain Pevensie finally arrived, Aedan quickly realized that Ciaran’s warnings had not prepared him. At all.

 

_March 1943, Tunisia_

Aedan fought the urge to back away from his new commanding officer. Not only was Captain Pevensie very much his type, with warm golden hair, a tanned complexion, golden eyes, and at least six feet tall (which would have made him feel awkward standing at attention anyways), but the other man had an overwhelming magnetism and charisma around him, compounded by the fact that there was an amused look in his eyes that reminded Aedan of a predator indulging its potential prey. He shivered once Pevensie finally wasn’t looking in his direction anymore, earning a strange look from the man beside him.

“O’Brien, you alright man? It’s more than 80 degrees out.”

“Sure, sure, I’m fine, Laurens. Ate something that didn’t agree with me, maybe,” Aedan said, waving off the other soldier. Laurens chuckled while putting a bit of distance between them.

“Entirely understandable, mate. What here in this hellhole isn’t going bad? Just don’t upchuck on me.” Aedan rolled his eyes at the other man and managed to regain control of himself by the time Captain Pevensie was facing the men again. He winced internally when he realized that Pevensie had noticed his lack of response to Lieutenant Arrington’s jab at the other officer. He could feel the man’s gaze burning into him even after the new captain glanced away. Honestly, though, he didn’t know why anyone else couldn’t see how much their new Captain did not look like he was months away from his nineteenth birthday.

Somehow, Aedan wasn’t all that surprised when Pevensie found him after dinner that night, though the man did manage to almost make his heart leap out of his chest. Seriously, sneaking up on someone in their tent was just rude! Pevensie chuckled quietly as Aedan regained control of himself. Face hot, and probably red, Aedan turned to face him, very much aware that he was lacking a shirt at the moment. Voice just shy of impertinent in tone, he said,

“Sir, is there any reason you needed to see me, or do you just enjoy scaring the life out of your subordinates?” Pevensie’s gaze sharpened and he straightened, though his voice was amused as he said,

“My apologies, O’Brien. I merely found you interesting. I could tell you didn’t have the same concern about my age that your fellows did.” A chill went down Aedan’s spine at Pevensie’s phrasing. He clenched his uniform shirt, crumpling it in a way that would likely be noticeable in the morning, and stiffened as he noticed Pevensie’s gaze raking over his body in a blatantly sexual way. _Well, I’m screwed, and Ciaran is going to shout the house down next time we see each other_ , Aedan thought feverishly as blood went to his cock in what had to be a blatantly obvious response to the captain’s regard.

To Aedan’s mingled relief and disappointment, Captain Pevensie abruptly groaned, raking a hand through his hair, and ripping his gaze away from Aedan’s body. He sighed, and said, his voice a gruff rumble that immediately went to Aedan’s cock,

“Look, O’Brien, I came here to see if you were a man I could trust and rely on. Your cousin was an excellent sergeant and helped me win the loyalty of my enlisted men in my last command. I want to know if you will do the same.” He paused, looking slightly sheepish, an expression Aedan had rarely seen on an officer before. “I didn’t mean to harass you or make unwanted advances. You’d be well with in your rights to report me.” Aedan’s heart skipped a beat. He stared at Pevensie in disbelief, wordless. Pevensie’s concerned expression deepened, and he sighed, turning to go. “I made this bloody awkward, and I’m sorry. My sisters would be blistering my ears right now if they were here. I’ll—” Hardly believing himself, as Pevensie went to step out of his tent, Aedan grabbed his arm. Pevensie looked down at him in bemusement.

“Sir, of course I’ll help you. Ciaran spoke fondly of your leadership, said you were a man worth following. And—” he cut himself off by pulling Pevensie back into his tent and down to his height before drawing the man down into a bruising kiss. Despite his earlier apparent embarrassment, Pevensie kissed him back just as passionately.

Aedan had no idea how long the two of them stood like that. It could have been hours, it could have been merely a couple minutes. But when he, lost in his arousal, pulled back from the kiss and started to go down on his knees, Pevensie stiffened, and stumbled away, drawing a hand across his face and muttering to himself.

“...stupid, stupid…I promised…Blast it!” He looked about ready to throw something (or someone), and Aedan approached him cautiously.

“Sir? Is something wrong?” Pevensie’s head snapped up so fast, Aedan jumped, stumbled, and began falling toward the ground. Compounding his embarrassment, Pevensie leaped forward and caught him. At least Pevensie’s face was red too, Aedan thought absently, as Pevensie let him go after ensuring Aedan was steady on his feet again. He cleared his throat, ignored the heat in his cheeks, and asked again, “Sir?” Pevensie groaned, sitting down cross-legged on the ground. Uncomfortable suddenly looming over him, Aedan did the same. Once they were both situated, Pevensie leaned forward.

“First of all, O’Brien, don’t call me sir. If you don’t feel comfortable calling me Pevensie or Peter because of my rank, please call me Captain. I hate being called sir.” He had an almost nauseated expression on his face, so Aedan decided to take him at his word, and nodded. Pevensie rubbed his eyes, then pinched the bridge of his nose before meeting Aedan’s eyes again. “I shouldn’t have kissed you. And not just because I’m your superior. I…do you believe in fairies?” Aedan raised a brow. This was sounding awfully familiar.

“Si—Pevensie, did Ciaran make you promise something because he thought you were one of the Good Folk?” Pevensie quirked a wry half-grin.

“No.” Aedan sighed in relief, glad his cousin hadn’t gone completely off the deep end. But he’d thought too soon.

“Your cousin made me take an oath not to touch you because he figured out that I am a god. And he put his life on the line for it. I could not convince him otherwise, and I refuse to risk a good man’s life because he believed he was protecting you.” Aedan stared at Pevensie, once again speechless, and shook his head. Pevensie merely met his eyes, not saying a word to acknowledge how unbelievable this all was. Finally, after a long silence, Aedan cursed virulently and expressively in Gaelic. Pevensie looked impressed, the expression highlighting the lines on his face, but didn’t say word, only checked his watch. Once Aedan had gotten all of that out of his system, he checked his watch as well, and made a face.

Twelve-hundred. Still plenty of time to get this mess sorted out, but late enough he was going to be rather ill-tempered tomorrow. He looked back up at Pevensie.

“What the fuck convinced Ciaran you have the power to do anything to him other than throw him in the brig or order him to go get killed? As for you being a god, are you delusional? The only god is God!” In the back of his mind, his common sense was screaming that he shouldn’t be snapping at his commanding officer or calling him delusional, but Aedan pushed that voice down. Pevensie frowned, his eyes seeming to darken in the flickering lamplight, and the wrinkles on his face even more emphasized.

“O’Brien, that’s far from true. Just because God is the most prevalently worshipped doesn’t mean he’s the only deity in existence. You should know that, you serve with a few Hindus.” He paused, sighing. Aedan could swear that the shadows behind Pevensie formed into the shape of a wolf, but his attention was drawn back to Pevensie’s face as the other man began to speak again. “I would never wish your cousin harm, and I thought that the oath was unnecessary. Even if I did end up interested in you, or vice versa, I told him I assumed you could take care of yourself, even reporting me if I made you uncomfortable.” He rubbed his face again. “But Ciaran had seen much more of my powers even than the rest of my men. He had seen me shift into a wolf, he saw through my mask, and he saw me set someone on fire.” Aedan couldn’t help gasping at the last, and Pevensie winced. “In addition to my other, more obvious…peculiarities, well, that convinced him. He confronted me, saying that, while he liked me, he didn’t trust me around you, but he knew I was exactly the kind of person you would fall for.” Now it was Aedan’s turn to rub his face.

“That feckin’ gobshite!” he swore once again, quite feelingly. Ciaran could possibly be right about Pevensie being a seriously unwise choice as a lover, but he still shouldn’t have put his life on the line to prevent Aedan from making the choice himself. Aedan was entitled to make his own rash, impulsive decisions. Pevensie was still giving him a wry look. Aedan began fluffing up his bedding. Once his back was turned, Pevensie got to his feet, the rustling of his uniform feeling unnaturally loud in the enclosed space. Aedan cleared his throat and straightened up.

“Pevensie, you can rely on me. You seem like a decent man, and Ciaran did vouch for your competency. Even if he’s being an eejit right now.” Pevensie’s laugh was choked, as if he’d been surprised by Aedan’s comment. Aedan turned to see the other man’s expression, but Pevensie had already slipped out of his tent.

True to his word, Aedan spent the next weeks convincing his fellow sergeants and the men beneath him of Pevensie’s worth. It helped that Pevensie was a genuinely good fighter, if more than a bit terrifying, and unconcerned about blood, as well as not willing to make the men do anything he wouldn’t do himself. Not to mention, he did seem to be honest about wanting to get to know the men. In fact, the other officers often complained he wasn’t showing enough distance. Aedan wasn’t sure he agreed. Pevensie expected his orders to be followed, and never questioned in battle. But he also genuinely cared about his men, saw them as people in a way that many of the officers didn’t, even those who didn’t particularly like him, like Lieutenant Arrington.

Pevensie was settling in well as captain, in Aedan’s opinion. And in most settings, Aedan felt the two of them got along well too. They didn’t actually have to deal with each other all the time, since there were two other sergeants in the regiment. But when they did, they worked efficiently and well, with even a sense of camaraderie. But, take out purely military and combat situations, and it was awkward. Aedan didn’t think anyone else had noticed yet, partially because the mess would have been the most awkward, except that for the most part, officers didn’t eat with enlisted.

The problem was, Aedan was both very attracted to, and very curious about, Captain Pevensie. He couldn’t help staring at the man. Bloody hell, who could blame him? Pevensie was rugged and charming, exactly the type of person who hit all of Aedan’s attractions. And he was pretty sure Pevensie was still attracted to him as well, because the man’s hands lingered whenever he had the chance to touch Aedan. Not long enough to attract attention—neither of them were that rash—but longer than normal, that was for certain.

But both of them were aware of not only the power differential between them, or the fact they were both men, but the life that was on the line because of Ciaran’s damn stupid oath. So, nothing happened, and they tried to avoid each other when not actually on duty or in combat.

Unfortunately, Aedan could feel the tension growing between them. He had an uneasy feeling it was going to peak, for one reason or another, with potentially disastrous consequences. He was right, but it wasn’t because of anything he or Pevensie did. No, the catalyst was out of their hands entirely.


	2. To Buy My Lover A Sword of Steel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angst. I'm sorry.

_1 April 1943, 16:00_

Peter glared tiredly at the letter resting on his knee. He did not need Ityos telling him he was not using his brain. He knew getting involved with O’Brien was a bad idea for so many reasons. Not the least of which being that damn oath that the man’s cousin had thought up. The clipped tones of Major Courland drew Peter from his grumbling.

“Good lord, Pevensie, you look like someone killed your cat. Did your girl break up with you, old chap?” Peter looked up with a smirk on his face.

“No, my brother’s telling me I’m being ridiculous over a matter I’m worried about, sir.” Peter enjoyed the unmitigated pleasure of seeing the other officer splutter as Peter’s answer caught him off-guard. Eventually, Courland regained control of himself, smoothing a hand over his tailored goatee. He shook his head, a reluctant amusement peeking through his voice.

“Pevensie, why do you enjoy screwing with our heads so much? That delivery was absolutely deadpan.” Peter shrugged, still smirking.

“I do it to everyone. You can’t say I pick on the other officers in particular.” Courland shook his head, chuckling. The other man was one of the few superior officers who actually liked Peter, despite his teasing.

“I suppose I can’t deny that. Did you ensure everyone got their mail?” Peter nodded, then looked at the older man expectantly.

“Sir, was there something else you needed to let me know?” Courland coughed, straightening.

“Yes. The Lieutenant-Colonel needs us all to be ready to march out when night falls. The main body of our force isn’t too far, so worst comes to worse, critically injured can be handled by them.” Peter folded Ityos’s letter, tucking it into a uniform pocket as he stood.

“The German encampment? You really think we’ll need everyone?” Courland raised a brow, but his voice was even as he asked,

“You’re telling me you don’t have a bad feeling about this, Pevensie?” Peter grimaced.

“No, you’re right, sir. I think we’ll need everyone we have. I just don’t know why.” Courland shifted on his feet.

“Same here, son.” He cleared his throat. “Now, go get your men packed and ready to move out.” Peter saluted.

“Yes sir.”

 

_1 April 1943, 19:30_

Normally, one of the officers would have to reprimand _somebody_ on a mission like this. There was always that one man who let his nerves or excitement get the better of him. But tonight, it seemed like the unease had permeated the whole regiment. The only sounds were the native animals, a faint breeze, and the muted thud of boots on grassy hills.

Peter couldn’t prevent himself from becoming tenser and tenser as they got closer and closer to the enemy. He wasn’t scared of dying. No, he’d made his peace with death long ago, and besides, he was rather harder to kill than the average man. No, he was worried that this encampment wasn’t what it seemed. He knew he wasn’t the only one. They’d all heard the rumors that the Nazis were trying to make a super soldier, and the rumor that they’d succeeded. No one really thought the Germans would send a super soldier to the North African front, but if they’d succeeded in that, what else could they have come up with?

Peter had the sinking feeling that whatever they were going to face, it would be something most of the other men couldn’t fight. A sudden chill running down his spine, he glanced over to his right, reassuring himself that O’Brien was still right there. Peter forced himself to take deep breaths, put himself into the mindset for a fight. He was a war god, after all. This was one of his callings, and the Germans definitely needed to be stopped.

 

_1 April 1943, 20:00_

It all went to shit almost as soon as they stepped foot in the German camp. At least, that’s how it felt to Peter.

Truly, at first the enemy camp was deathly silent. Too silent. And there were no sentries. Peter exchanged uneasy looks with Arrington and O’Brien. His men all made sure they had their hands on their guns. Peter, for his part, called his wolf and fire to the forefront. A heavy pause fell, and Peter had a terrible instinct.

“MOVE!” he barked, shoving the men closest to him to the left. Everyone within in earshot followed his motion in a jumbled fashion, and not a moment too soon. Less than a minute after the last man had ducked to the left, a bright blue light shot through, vaporizing the men unlucky enough to still be in its path. Peter stared for a moment, the color of the light bringing back memories of a war he’d rather forget before O’Brien shook him hard, bringing him back to the present.

“Captain Pevensie! What do we do? I’ve never seen the like of those weapons.” Peter cleared his throat, reluctantly sliding out from under O’Brien’s grasp. He gathered the men around him (less than a hundred he could see, he realized, wincing internally), and began speaking rapidly.

“We need to take out the ones directing those weapons, and then destroy them. Whatever these are, we can’t afford to let the Nazis get their hands back on them once we take them out.” The men nodded soberly, their faces tight. Peter let out a short breath and shook out his tenseness. It would only trip him up. “Alright. Follow my lead.”

Somehow, they managed to take out all the vaporizing weapons. But their success was bittersweet, as were most combat victories. Patil and Laurens both fell before they managed to get the last weapon and its gunners. The one small mercy was that neither man was vaporized, which would give their families a body to bury.

The field was evened slightly with the vaporizers out of the game. Peter and his group joined the remainder of the regiment in battling the Germans carrying more typical weapons. The next real problem came when they got to the scientists the Germans were trying to protect. The first few were the typical, noncombatant white coats, except for the fact that they yelled,

“Hail Hydra!” before popping cyanide pills, most dying before any British medical officers could save them. But not all were so defenseless. Peter was first made aware of this when he heard a scream in a familiar voice behind him. He whipped around to see O’Brien trying to fight off a—thing—that was not familiar to any dimension Peter was aware of, particularly not Earth. It looked somewhat like an octopus with too many arms, and a very elongated body. And—Peter winced—a frankly terrifying mouth. At first, O’Brien seemed like he was fighting off the creature, who seemed to be directed by one of the scientists, successfully, so Peter held back. But then O’Brien stumbled, and the creature wrapped one of its arms around his ankle. Peter prepared to move. O’Brien twisted in an attempt to remove himself from the creature’s grip and avoid further entanglement.

Peter saw the scientist’s hand move as the Nazi said something in German. He raced to O’Brien’s side with inhuman speed. But even gods have limits, especially when caught off-guard, and O’Brien had gotten rather far from Peter. The god could merely watch in horror as first the creature twisted the ankle it held rather sharply and when O’Brien fell to one knee, the scientist shot him point-blank in the chest.

As a blood stain bloomed like a grotesque flower over O’Brien’s heart, something snapped in Peter. It was a somewhat familiar snap to Peter, much to his dismay, and one that was the reason why Narni'yn enemies and traitors feared him, why sometimes, occasionally,Aniceytyos, the king of Narnian pantheon, was more terrifying than Araylia the goddess of death, or Damyokrityos, the deity of justice. Because when someone who Peter loved was hurt or killed, all his restraint disappeared.

There was a reason why the rest of the Pantheon often tried to coddle his lovers. But they could not coddle themselves, which was how they learned of this in the first place. In the back of his mind, Peter knew he was likely horrifying his still-living men. In another portion of his mind, he was, quite honestly, screaming. He hadn’t realized how much he’d grown to care for O’Bri—Aedan. But the rest of his mind was focused on causing absolute destruction on the people who dared to harm the man he was falling in love with.

Slowly, all other fighting slowed to halt as the remaining 56th Reconnaissance Regiment watched their captain become practically a human whirlwind, decimating the remaining Germans with fire that appeared out of nowhere, along with his gun. Some of his men would claim to each other later that he changed into a wolf. When Peter finally stopped, panting slightly, his eyes and hair unnaturally bright, by Sergeant O’Brien’s fallen form, none of the Germans were standing. He had managed to hold enough back that some were alive, if unconscious, but not a one were on their feet. Every eye of every still-conscious 56th soldier was on the captain as he dropped to his knees beside Sergeant O’Brien. At the bleak devastation on his face, some of them had to look away, unable to muster the strength to watch such pain.

The captain pulled O’Brien into his arms, the sergeant familiarly limp in his arms. When he began to sing in an unfamiliar language, in a tone that was almost a howl in nature, not a few of them felt tears pricking at their eyes. No one moved a muscle until the last note left his lips, and he stood, the sergeant still in his arms. When he began to walk toward the remaining men, Lieutenant Arrington shoved his way out of the thinned crowd. He limped toward Captain Pevensie, saying something quiet. Pevensie shook his head sharply and said something else in response. Lieutenant Arrington nodded, turning around to order the men to clean up. The captain refused to let go of O’Brien, but somehow managed to help the men, not saying another word to anyone.

When they finally marched back to where the main Allied Force was stationed, Peter was still carrying Aedan. He didn’t stand out quite as much in that respect, as the other men were also carrying the dead and critically injured now, as well as shoving their few prisoners. But the entire remaining regiment cast a haunting shadow.

When the commander of the base finally came out, Major Courland, Peter’s remaining superior, stepped forward, much to everyone’s silent relief.

His quick thinking and matter-of-fact summation soon released the majority of them to the medical tent or to decompress. There was a tense moment when the commander tried to order the captain to report. Everyone froze. Then Lieutenant Arrington stepped forward.

“I don’t think the captain’s in a fit state to report now, sir. He took the brunt of everything.” When the captain didn’t even react to Arrington’s words, all the men let out a silent sigh of relief, the tension in the air noticeably dropping. The commander, being a reasonably observant man, blinked, and said,

“Very well, Lieutenant. I expect you will report in his place and let me know when he has recovered enough to give me his own report.”

“Yes, sir.”

 

_17 April 1943_

The first thing Aedan noticed when he woke up was that someone was holding his hand. Well, no, that wasn’t completely true. Before he noticed anything else, he was wondering how the hell he was waking up to begin with. He could have sworn that the shot had gone through his heart. Then he started to notice what was around him. The med tent he was in was awfully quiet, especially for a frontline, impromptu center. He opened his eyes. He was definitely in a med tent. Besides the ubiquitous clinical smell of any medical center, he could see full beds out of the corners of his eyes. Closer than those beds, however, Aedan heard the measured breathing of a sleeper. He struggled to sit up, with surprisingly less amounts of pain than he expected, and turned to his left.

Aedan held back a gasp with some effort. Holding his hand, and asleep in a chair by his cot, was Captain Pevensie. The other man looked, to put it simply, terrible. He had obviously changed at some point, because his uniform wasn’t bloody or dusty, but it was equally obvious that had been a while ago, since his uniform was seriously wrinkled. Besides that, the captain’s face was gaunt, the lines in it deeper than Aedan had ever seen before. He was doubting that Pevensie was keeping up his mask right now. The other man snuffled slightly, shifting in his seat. In another circumstance, Aedan was certain he would have found it adorable.

However, Pevensie’s movement allowed his collar to shift, the half buttoned uniform slipping to reveal a long, deep, and unmistakable, scarred slash across his throat. This time, Aedan couldn’t help the gasp that slipped through his lips. The sound wasn’t loud, but still, Aedan had only the tightening of Pevensie’s hand on his own before the other man snapped awake, golden eyes, now hauntingly dark with an emotion Aedan wasn’t sure he wanted to define, unerringly landing on his own. Pevensie leaned forward, grasping Aedan’s other hand before he could react, and drawing them together, kissed Aedan’s hands. Aedan’s breath caught, and he could feel his cheeks getting hot. He also couldn’t help frantically looking around to make sure no one was paying attention. As he had noticed earlier, the med tent was peculiarly silent and empty. He looked back at Pevensie, who dropped one of Aedan’s hands to cup one side of Aedan’s face. Out of habit, and with Pevensie’s words about Ciaran’s oath ringing in his head, Aedan pulled back.

“Sir, what—” Pevensie flinched, pulling his hands away. Aedan promptly felt both guilty and bereft.

“Aedan, don’t call me sir. I am Peter to you.” Pevensie’s voice was hoarse, as if he’d been crying. Aedan gaped at him.

“I—” Pevensie grabbed his shoulders, mouth right next to Aedan’s ear.

“Aedan. I can’t lose you. You almost died in front of my eyes. I don’t care how reckless this is. When we get back to London, we will find your cousin, and I will make him take back his oath.” Made shaky both by the feeling of Pevensie’s breath on his ear, and the words the other man was saying, Aedan focused on the least earthshaking in implication.

“We? Why would you be going back to London? You’re not injured, are you?” Pevensie’s smile was small, but genuine.

“No, but we’re too small for a regiment now. And besides, I doubt anyone wants to stay here after what we’ve gone through. The majority of the survivors are going to be discharged after they heal. The rest of us are going through Commando training before heading to the European theater.” He hesitated. “I would understand if you wanted to be discharged. But I would like you to be my second-in-command.” Aedan found himself staring at Pevensie in disbelief again.

“Si—Pev—Peter, you’re mad. I say that sincerely. But if you think that I would pass up the chance to fight by your side again, you’ve completely lost it.” To Aedan’s consternation, Pev-Peter started laughing and crying at the same time. It did not help his rather scrambled mind when—still crying—Peter kissed him gently before helping him lie back down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not a military buff, so not all of this may be completely plausible or accurate. If something is wrong from a technical standpoint, I’d like to know, but otherwise, this is just a story about fictional characters, so I can fudge a bit. Not to mention, I am clearly making up what happened to the 56th Reconnaissance Regiment. Yes, I realize that some of the weapons I have HYDRA have might not be accurate, but I wanted a little eldritch influence. Besides, they are canonically a cult trying to bring an old, powerful being back into earth/our dimension. That seems pretty eldritch to me. 
> 
> This may seem a bit abrupt and quick for Peter to fall in love. However: a) he’s been getting to know Aedan over the course of a few months that I haven’t focused on, and b) my Peter feels emotions very passionately and (relatively) rapidly. Obviously, he can be rational, but he is also very often impulsive. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t actually love Aedan, that just means he’s fallen harder and faster than Aedan has. 
> 
> I know this is dramatic and angsty. It gets better.


	3. A Wolf Is A Worthy Partner Indeed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aedan and Peter go see the O'Brien family while on leave, and free Ciaran from his life-threatening vow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry this took so long. A combination of life and sex scenes proving a stumbling block delayed this posting. Speaking of, if you'd like to skip the sex scene, skip the section from the page break to "The O'Brien Family Home". 
> 
> Also, the ending gets a little intense, but there's no overtly homophobic family members, though there is mention of queer-bashing if that's a trigger for anyone.

_May 1943, Dublin, United Kingdom_

Ciaran O’Brien had just sat down with his mug and lunch at the pub when he felt a familiar prickling at the back of his neck. More than a little confused as to why his former commanding officer, who had been raised very English, would be in Ireland, particularly since Aedan hadn’t sent any letters about what the 56th was doing for a while, Ciaran stepped out of his chair just in time to miss a punch aimed at his jaw.

“Bloody hell! What was that feckin’ for?” he bellowed, staring at his cousin in surprise. Aedan was breathing heavily, glaring at him as Captain Pevensie held his right arm above his head as if Aedan had tried to swing again. His former commanding officer, after giving Aedan a reproving look, turned a wry one on Ciaran.

“My apologies for the greeting, Sergeant. Though I must admit I understand Aedan’s sentiment. That oath of yours was reckless, I told you from the beginning.” Ciaran stumbled, the import of Pevensie’s words sinking in as he noticed not only that Pevensie had called Aedan by his first name, but the older man had tangled his other hand in Aedan’s free one. He groaned, pushing his food away, and his whiskey as well, after taking a long draw from it. Aedan and Pevensie sat down without an invitation, Aedan still glaring at him. Ciaran dug his hands into his hair, refusing to wince as he caught a knot.

“I thought both of you knew better.” He turned to Pevensie, his voice pleading and low. “I know the stories of gods and humans. You’ll tear Aedan to pieces and not even mean it. He has enough to deal with.” Pevensie didn’t say a word, the only sign acknowledging Ciaran’s words the darkening of his eerie gold eyes. Aedan scoffed loudly, causing Ciaran to jump. His eyes practically spitting sparks, his cousin said skeptically, his voice low and furious,

“I doubt that. He’s more likely to tear others apart for harming me. After all, it’s what he did when I almost died in the disaster that mowed down our last mission.”

“What?!” Ciaran demanded, his voice jumping up an octave in shock. Thankfully, he didn’t attract much attention in the crowded pub. “You didn’t send a word.” Pevensie winced, but Aedan kept going as if he hadn’t even heard Ciaran.

“We both tried not to give into our feelings because of our positions and your damn oath. It didn’t do a spot of good or prevent Peter from falling in love with me. Just release him and yourself, Ciaran. I don’t want you dead or Peter losing his sanity.” Ciaran shook his head slowly, even more surprised. He rubbed his eyes before looking over to Pevensie again.

“You and I need to have a talk, sir, since both Aedan and I’s fathers are worthless.” Before Aedan could unleash the fury he was undoubtedly feeling, Ciaran returned his gaze to him. “After that, you can yell at me all you wish, Aedan. As long as you promise to visit Mam ‘n Aunt Maureen. They and the little ones have been so damn worried without your letters. I don’t care if you were dying. You should have written!” Aedan flushed, and subsided. Ciaran looked expectantly at his former commanding officer as he rose. Pevensie set his own drink down and rose fluidly.

“Your lead, Sergeant. I’m afraid I don’t know Dublin.” The two men walked silently through the cobbled streets for a solid few minutes before either of them spoke. The streets were mostly deserted except for the pubs. After they moved to the side for a crowd of cheerful men stumbling home, Ciaran finally found his voice.

“Pevensie, what do you want with him? He’s a good Catholic. You aren’t even human!”

“You think I don’t appreciate faith?” Pevensie sounded amused, but there was a hard edge to it. That edge was only emphasized when he added, “When I have sacrifices and priests to my name, and my sister still believes in God despite all her struggles and being one herself? I do not want to pull your cousin away from his own faith.” Ciaran blinked, but he was still worried. Clenching his fists at his sides, he said, his voice low as they passed another pub,

“You say this, and I doubt you can lie, but you must be related to the Little Folk. There is always a price for their affections. There is always a danger for any human involved with the Little Folk. I refuse to see Aedan harmed again because of you.” The flick of Pevensie’s head toward him was the only warning Ciaran had before Pevensie slammed him against the nearest back wall, holding him by the throat. His grip was a warning, not restricting Ciaran’s breathing, but threatening that he could, easily. Ciaran tried not to panic as Pevensie spoke, his voice silky and smooth in a way that sent ice down Ciaran’s spine.

“Ciaran Patrick O’Brien. I respected you, I appreciated your loyalty and support. I believed they were returned. I am disappointed to see otherwise. Your brother is the man I love, so I will not harm you.” He paused, his face still terrifyingly close to Ciaran’s face. “I poured my own energy and magic into him to prevent his death. If you _ever_ intimate that I mean him any injury at all, you will regret it.” Seemingly having exhausted his fury, Pevensie stepped back, dropping Ciaran to the ground. He sprawled awkwardly on the cobblestones, his legs weak. When he finally managed to stand on his feet, he met Pevensie’s eyes with great effort. The gold shone eerily in the full-moon light.

“Did he tell you? That we share a sire?” Pevensie shook his head, a faint amusement present in his voice when he said,

“Not directly. I gathered from how the two of you talked of each other.” Ciaran braced his arm on the building behind him, still shaky.

“Ah. You love him? You haven’t bewitched him? You won’t keep him from us?” Pevensie abruptly seemed to grow taller, and Ciaran saw the silhouette of a wolf forming around the older man’s head, before it dissolved, and Pevensie dropped his shoulders, sinking to the ground. His voice had a hint of a growl to it, but that was somehow less disturbing than the silky knife of earlier.

“Yes, I love him, Ciaran. Aedan is one of the missing pieces of my heart.” He leaned forward, running his hands through his hair in an uncharacteristically unsure movement. His voice was rueful as he said, “I don’t know if he thinks the same yet. My siblings have always worried about my tendency to fall in love headlong.” The other man sighed, before rising, only, much to Ciaran’s shock, to go to his knees before him, hands in a penitent clasp. “I understand now. You were merely acting as his protector, as a father should. But you have no guardian to do so, and you would not allow either his mother or yours to put themselves in danger.” Ciaran could only nod speechlessly. How else could he respond to such a surreal experience?

Pevensie took a deep breath before lifting his face to meet Ciaran’s.

“Ciaran Patrick O’Brien. I apologize sincerely for the worry and harm I have caused you. In exchange for releasing you from your oath, I, Peter Aniketos Pevensie, called Aniceytyos and the Magnificent, High King of Narni’y, ask for your blessing and permission in courting your brother, Aedan Berach O’Brien. I promise to protect and cherish him and to never cause him any intentional harm.” There was a weight to the air as Pevensie finished, as if his promise and vows had physical presence. If Ciaran hadn’t half-believed that Pevensie was a god already, this would have convinced him. Still more than overwhelmed by the idea of magic and gods in this, the modern age, it took him quite a while to respond. Finally, he cleared his throat before saying,

“I accept. Now please, for the love of God, get up off your knees!” The weight of the air started to dissipate as Pevensie got up with alacrity from a position that would have made Ciaran’s knees groan, and he wasn’t even thirty-five! Pevensie dusted off his trousers before saying, with a strangely unforced lightness,

“We must get back then, Sergeant. Or your brother will have both our heads!” Ciaran couldn’t help chuckling despite the seriousness of the previous few moments.

“Quite. Good to know he can hold his own with you. You do realize we tend to call each other cousin? It makes it less uncomfortable for our mothers.” Pevensie bobbed his head sharply in acknowledgement. Sure enough, when they returned to the tavern, Aedan looked about ready to rip both their heads off until Ciaran put his hands in the air in only half-mocking surrender.

“It’s sorted, you eejit! I promise!” Aedan backed off a bit, but his brows were still lowered skeptically.

“ _Mar dhea_ , Ciaran. Is that why ye both look wrecked then?” Ciaran sighed, rubbing his face.

“Yes! Now, can we all go to our lodgings and meet tomorrow to visit Mam, Aunt Maureen ‘n the kids?” Aedan nodded, but that very well might have been because Pevensie had grabbed his arm and was whispering in his ear. Neither of them looked particularly subtle about their attachment. Aedan was leaning into Pevensie’s frame, and Pevensie himself had moved his hand to Aedan’s waist. Thank the Lord they were in shadows, and everyone was too tipsy to be paying attention!

Ciaran growled with frustration under his breath, attracting the attention of the other two men.

“Don’t get arrested,” he muttered. After Pevensie chuckled, he added, a bit louder, “I’m serious! I’ll meet you both at Christ Church tomorra, aright?”

“Aright, Ciaran,” Aedan said, his voice still dry, and with that, the two other men disappeared into the night. Ciaran stared after them for a moment, then shook his head. He seriously needed a drink, and he felt he was entirely entitled to one.

* * *

Peter and Aedan managed to return to their lodgings without more than a few suspicious or disgusted glares thrown their way, luckily not from their landlord or their fellow lodgers. Nonetheless, the two men were glad to finally be behind closed doors, and not just because they didn’t enjoy being the focus of prejudice.

Peter began undressing Aedan almost as soon as he locked their door, much to Aedan’s spluttering, though not unpleased, surprise. Once Aedan’s shirt had been thrown to the floor, Peter began fluttering kisses and light bites up and down his neck.

Aedan shuddered slightly, closing his eyes as pleasure began sparking throughout his nerves. He stiffened and moaned softly as Peter began mouthing his nipples, the moan getting higher-pitched as Peter began to use his teeth. That occupied them both for quite a few minutes. When Peter released his nipples, Aedan’s eyes shot open, dismayed as he was with the loss of the pleasurable sensation. His eyes widened in a way that was almost comical as he looked down to see Peter on his knees, unfastening Aedan’s trousers.

“What’re ye doing, Peter?” Peter tipped his chin up slightly to throw Aedan an arch look, one golden brow arched imperiously.

“What the hell do you think I’m doing, Aedan?” Aedan swallowed, his face hot, feeling arousal go straight to his cock. Before he could find the words to answer, Peter leaned forward, having freed Aedan’s cock from the confines of his trousers. Aedan stiffened, clenching his fists tightly, and the back of his head thudded gently against the door as Peter slowly and painstakingly, grinning wickedly the whole time, rolled a condom on. Aedan glared down at him, saying hoarsely,

“Quit tormenting me, ye bastard.” Peter chuckled lowly, and Aedan couldn’t help moaning softly, sinking into the sharp pain-pleasure as Peter began fisting his cock, his hips jerking unconsciously. Aedan was practically floating in a daze of arousal and lust when Peter pulled him over to the bed. Stumbling, but still very invested, Aedan followed as he was guided.

He landed on the bed with a muted huff and tensed as Peter began to finger him, expecting his fingers to be cold. He quickly tensed for another reason entirely as Peter’s oiled fingers started hitting just the right spots. It was getting harder and harder to keep quiet for Aedan, which Peter seemed to realize, his free hand clamping over Aedan’s mouth, his grip hard, but not punishing, merely practical. By the time Peter had finished preparing him, Aedan was squirming with need, whining softly behind the hand over his mouth. Peter gave him a wicked grin, his golden eyes glittering before he pulled away briefly to put on a condom himself, the wait only amping up Aedan's already overwhelming arousal.

“Relax,” Peter said in a low voice as he replaced his hand over Aedan’s mouth, “I wouldn’t want you to undo all the work I did getting you ready.” Aedan couldn’t help snickering, but he did try to follow his lover’s advice and consciously relax. He sucked in a breath as Peter pushed in, slowly at first, nonetheless hitting nerves already made sensitive by his earlier preparation. In fact, Peter moved so slowly that Aedan was close to cursing him out in his impatience.

Then Peter hit his prostate, and stars burst behind his eyes. The sensation got even better as Peter really began to thrust, and soon Aedan was urging him on in muffled shouts that became steadily more and more ragged. Aedan came first, one of Peter’s thrusts hitting the right spot too quickly for him to warn his lover. Perhaps precipitated by Aedan’s orgasm, Peter quickly followed, coming with a low groan and collapsing over him. Aedan closed his eyes, enjoying his lover’s weight pressing him into the bed, and not having quite enough energy to move just yet. He smiled as Peter tucked his face into the curve of his shoulder, delivering a light kiss to the top of Peter’s damp, cropped blond curls.

After what could have been hours, or merely a few minutes, Peter straightened up and pulled away, pulling out slowly as he did so. Aedan muffled a groan into the pillow. It had been awhile. He was going to be sore tomorrow—enjoyably so, but still sore—hopefully not noticeably so. He was fairly certain Mam and Aunt Moira both had an idea about his inclinations, but he would rather not do anything to bring the subject up. Aedan had no interest in making things awkward if his step-da wasn’t there. And on that subject….he sighed.

“What is it, love?” Peter asked. Aedan blinked, but rubbed his face and sighed again.

“So, Aunt Moira’s husband died about five years ago now, but Mam’s husband is still around. He signed up when the war broke out, but he could be on leave.”

“You never got along with him, did you?” Peter said astutely. Aedan nodded.

“He doesn’t mistreat Mam, but he’s not very pleasant either, and never liked me nor Ciaran much.” Peter hummed thoughtfully, bringing over water and a pitcher to wash up. He offered a kerchief to dispose of the condoms. They were lying in bed, back to back, Peter tracing absent patterns over Aedan’s stomach when he said,

“Well, I doubt we can do anything about it, so I’ll just be sure to be on my manners tomorrow, alright?” Aedan snorted.

“Ye mean not screw with anyone, don’t ye?” Peter chuckled, the sound causing a pleasant vibration along Aedan’s spine.

“Well, I would word it differently, but that was the general gist, yes.”

 

_The O’Brien Family Home, Dublin, the United Kingdom_

Aedan pinched the bridge of his nose, glaring over at Ciaran. Much to his dismay, Seamus was on leave and was, naturally, being belligerent with Peter, and scaring the little ones. Ciaran shrugged, giving him a sheepish grin. Thankfully, Aunt Moira looked about done with all this fuss, and was shooing all the little ones who hadn’t hit fifteen yet out to the tiny square of green out back that they shared with their neighbors. Unfortunately, Seamus took that moment to get in Aedan’s face.

“And what the feck were ye thinkin’, ye little maggot, bringin’ home this limey bastard!” Aedan saw Mam wince behind Seamus and Peter had that peculiar smile of his, that one that made him seem like a wolf waiting to pounce. He withheld his own urge to wince, as Seamus would surely misinterpret it, and returned his stepfather’s words in kind.

“Little, ye say, Seamus? Bit rich, aye since I topped ye at seventeen.” He paused long enough to let Seamus’ face go red, but not long enough for the older man to say anything. “And I’d say Captain Pevensie is pretty decent for an English commanding officer and “limey bastard” since he saved my life on the last deployment. So, I dare ye to say anything nasty to my face about him, Seamus, ye bleedin’ tick.” Seamus went impossibly redder and began to wind his arm back. Peter was there faster than Aedan could quite see, and the next thing he knew, his lover was holding Seamus’ wrist in one hand as his stepfather spluttered in disbelief.

“I would refrain from doing that again if I were you, Mr…” Peter trailed off, his voice cold as he waited for Seamus to give his surname. His stepfather, still furiously astounded, didn’t say anything coherent. Finally, Aedan’s Mam said, her voice faint,

“It’d be Corcoran, Captain Pevensie.”

“Thank you kindly, Mrs. Corcoran,” Peter said, bowing in her direction and never once letting go of Seamus. “Now,” he said, warmth bleeding away from his voice again, “Mr. Corcoran, I couldn’t care less what names you call me. But you will not like the result if I hear of you doing the same to Sergeant O’Brien, his mother, or Aedan. And if you ever raise a hand in anger to Aedan again, I assure you, you will wish you’d never been born.”

Aedan put his head in his hands, groaning quietly. So much for hiding anything. There was a long silence. Aedan didn’t dare break it. Aunt Moira broke it, with her usual brand of no-nonsense.

“Seamus, go take a walk and cool down. And don’t ye go around with yer big blabbermouth, eejit. Think on how we’d’ ve lost that income from Aedan if’n he’d died if ye can’t be happy yer stepson came home.” Seamus grumbled indistinctly, but Peter must have released him because the noise of his discontent disappeared. Aedan finally dared look up to see both Aunt Moira and Mam staring at him, Ciaran looking frustrated, and Peter decidedly blank. He had no idea what his own expression was, but Aunt Moira looked between him and Peter before huffing slightly and turning to Mam.

“Aright, clearly there’s something we need to discuss. Maureen, sit yerself down at the table.” Mam did so, dragging Ciaran with her as the three oldest after him and Ciaran—Maeve, Sean, and Eileen—clustered around the old kitchen table. Aunt Maureen looked at him and Peter expectantly. Aedan would have offered him the other remaining chair, but Peter pushed him into it, opting to stand behind him. Aedan held back a sigh. He wasn’t looking forward to this conversation. Aunt Moira adjusted her spectacles before fixing him with an arch gaze that made him feel all of thirteen. “So, what’s this I hear about ye needing yer life saved, ye gombeen?” Aedan tried not to wince as Peter’s grasp on his shoulder tightened painfully. He had no doubt his family noticed his lover’s behavior. He cleared his throat.

“I got shot. Near the heart. P-Pevensie’s the only reason I didn’t bleed out.” Mam went white, and he could hear his siblings gasping. Aedan, on the other hand, couldn’t help letting out a yelp as Peter’s grip tightened even further. The pressure was abruptly gone, but now Aedan had everyone’s eyes on him. Aunt Moira’s gaze flicked up above him before she returned her furious gaze to him.

“I think ye know what my next question is, Aedan.” He rubbed his eyes before placing them flat on the table.

“I healed strangely well, but we were all too busy that we were already in London before I could send a letter to ye.” Her lips flattened, and he looked away. “Captain Pevensie asked me to be his right hand for the commando unit forming out of our regiment’s remnants.” Mam spoke up, her voice steadier now, though she still hadn’t regained all her color.

“Aedan, love. What’s the need for Captain Pevensie to come on yer leave wi’ ye? I’m sure he has family of his own who’d wish for a visit.” Aedan glanced over at Ciaran, whose face was stormy, and then glanced over at the kids. Mam waved her hands, drawing his gaze back to her. “Oh, they’re close enough to adults now anyhow. Eileen’ll be eighteen in June, remember. I’m sure they can handle whatever ye’re about to say.” Aedan blew out a breath, feeling Peter’s hands settle on his shoulders again.

“Can ye, Mam?” he asked softly. “Ye’re more devout than I am.” She leaned forward, her eyes darkening, holding his callused hands with her own rough from laundry ones.

“Aedan, gombeen. Yer Mam is no eejit. Did ye think I wouldn’t notice when that one was off already chasing skirts while ye couldn’t keep yer eyes off Donal Ryan on Sundays?” she asked, jerking her head over to Ciaran. Aedan started blinking, his eyes hot. Mam rubbed her thumbs over the back of his hands, her brow furrowed. Then she looked up above him. “Captain—”

“Peter,” Peter interrupted. She shook her head slightly, looking startled.

“Aright then, Peter Pevensie. Yer his superior officer. How do I know ye’re not forcing him into this? I want to think otherwise, considering yer behavior, but ye’re not enlisted, and English asides.” Aedan knew he was bright red, and he refused to look anyone in the eye. Ciaran drew Mam’s attention when he cleared his throat.

“Aunt Maureen, I threatened him last night, ‘n he told me outright he’s in love with Aedan here.” Mam and Aunt Moira both looked more than a wee bit impressed, and the kids looked fit to burst. Aedan, for his part, was still mortified, and a bit pissed with Ciaran. Mam and Aunt Moira shared a look before turning back to him and Peter.

“Aright. But ye better not forget to write us for so long ever again,” Mam said to Aedan. He blew out a long breath as he nodded.

“I promise, Mam.” Then he looked up at his siblings.

“I haven’t even greeted all o’ ye yet. Do I get a hug, or are ye three too old for that now?” Eileen giggled, breaking the odd tension, and he was quickly swamped by three almost-grown teenagers.

“Will ye show me the places?” Eileen whispered in his ear. He flinched slightly but nodded.

“When ye turn eighteen, sure, Eilie. But ye might have better luck going wi’ us to London after the war.” She shrugged.

“Either way, I won’t have boys chasin’ after me, which suits me fine.” He squeezed her tighter before releasing her.

“Ye know I’m here for ye, Eilie.”

“I know,” she said brightly, if quietly, then gestured to Mam and Aunt Moira. “And now I know they are too.” He snorted.

“Ye’re a wily one, Eileen Maire Corcoran.” She grinned.

“I learned from the best.” The rest of the visit went peaceably, even though Seamus came back smelling like the pub. It probably helped that he quickly dozed off. All too soon Aedan and Peter were taking their leave. If they wanted to see Peter’s family before they had to go to training they couldn’t stay more than another night in Ireland. Peter waited just outside on the doorstep as Mam said her goodbyes to Aedan.

“Thank ye, Mam. I…it means a lot to know ye still love me.” His mother’s eyes were bright as she pulled him into a tight hug.

“No, love. Ye shouldn’t thank me. Ye’re my son, my first born. I shuid love ye no matter what.” She hesitated. “Ye know ye’re named after mine and Moira’s older brother?” Aedan nodded cautiously.

“The one who died afore I was born? Aye.” She looked away briefly, chewing her lip. Then took a deep breath and met his gaze again.

“Yer Uncle Aedan was the kindest man I ever knew, ‘n he was so protective of me ‘n Maureen. We were more’n ten years younger than him—we were the babies. Yer Grandda…he liked to drink, ‘n he was more’n fond of ‘tradition’.” She said the last bitterly, pulling him close again. “I’d throw Seamus out the house or kill him myself afore I’d let him beat ye to death.” Aedan shivered, hiding his face in her shoulder for a moment before meeting her gaze again.

“Mam…I don’t know what to say.” She shook her head, her face set in harsh lines.

“Yer my babe and my favorite brother’s namesake. I will love ye and protect ye for as long as I live. I just want ye to be happy. Are ye?” Aedan blew out a breath, still shaken.

“Yes, I think I am, Mam.” She smiled at him, pulling him close for one last hug before she pushed him out the door.

“Good. Go live your life, my Aedan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please tell me if anything seems particularly unrealistic for the time period. Also, technically, until 1949, as far as I can tell, Ireland was still part of the UK, and wasn’t formally recognized as its own country until then.  
> This is basically the first time I’ve actually written a sex scene (that anyone’s seen). Hopefully it isn’t too bad. Why are sex scenes so damn hard to get past when writing?


	4. I’m Afraid I’m Very Far from Understanding (My Way of Thinking About the Universe Is So Much the Opposite of Yours)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter introduces Aedan to the rest of the family. Aedan is overwhelmed, and Peter still needs to learn to look before he leaps.

_August 1943, Cumberland, The House_

Aedan shot an uneasy look over at Peter as they made their way up to the old manor house, but his lover didn’t notice, striding on with a pace that Aedan struggled to maintain. Before heading off to training back in May, he’d met Peter’s parents, who were nice, if clearly unaware about the reality of their son, and his sister Susan, along with her fellow, a Wing Commander Doyle. Susan had been much the same to Peter, except more polished in her eeriness. She could have been one of the mythical queens of the sidhe, like Queen Medb. He was fairly certain Doyle noticed the eeriness of both siblings, considering his behavior. Still, knowing Peter was more than he seemed was no preparation for a manor in the middle of nowhere, especially after seeing the truth of his lover’s decidedly middle-class origins.

“Aedan, love? What for are you waiting? They’re all waiting for us, surely. Everyone is delighted to meet you, especially since Susan told them more about you.” Aedan gulped, but drawn from his thoughts, hurried to catch up with Peter. He stood almost at attention as Peter rang the old, intricately carved knocker. It was opened by an older woman in the dress of a housekeeper from the days before the Great War. She smiled at Peter, her eyes crinkling.

“I expect ye’ll want tae be seein’ the Professor, aye?” Peter nodded, smiling back. Then her gaze flicked over to Aedan. “Are they expectin’ a guest wi’ ye, sir?”

“Yes, they are indeed, Mrs. Macready. How is Ivy, by the by?” The housekeeper shook her head, though her eyes were still twinkling.

“Left me to go get married, she did. And where she found a good man in this day ‘n age, I ask you?” Peter chuckled as he stepped inside, and Aedan couldn’t help following suit. He accidentally caught Mrs. Macready’s eye, and she smiled kindly. As Peter disappeared up the grandly carved stairs, she caught Aedan by the arm. He tensed but managed to dial back down his reaction enough to not do anything more than that. By her quiet tsk, he had no doubt she noticed.

“Ma’am?” He asked politely. She patted his arm before letting go.

“There’s no need tae worry, lad. Ye’ll be just fine.” Aedan nodded, concealing his skepticism, and followed a quickly disappearing Peter up the stairs. He had to steel himself before walking into the room from which the sounds of talk emanated. Peter dragged him in before he truly had the chance to gather his nerves. Aedan couldn’t prevent himself from staggering as the power in the room washed over him.

* * *

Edmund Pevensie shared a quick glance with her sister Dyora before returning her gaze to her older brother’s newest paramour. She had no doubt it was the man she’d warned Ani away from in her last letter. But then again, when did Ani ever do as others bade him? The one exception was when he drove any of them into a fury, but that was rare.

At least this man seemed to have a spine and the ability to protect himself. Not to mention, he could quite clearly see them as they were, something that Dyora’s new paramour couldn’t do without their dropping their glamors. Edmund narrowed her eyes as she noticed something odd about this new man of Ani’s and she stepped forward, barely noticing the gentle weight of Hay’si and Bakh’s hands on her shoulders. She frowned, a closer look proving what she had thought.

“Aniceytyos, what in the name of Narni'y were you thinking?”

* * *

Aedan stepped back as the petite black-haired woman with an intense gaze made in his direction. Peter’s hand clapped down heavily on his shoulder, and Aedan jumped, not having expected the gesture. But the warmth emanating from Peter’s touch was soothing enough to return a small amount of his equilibrium, as was noticing that the woman was being gently restrained by two of the others. Aedan still couldn’t help but wonder what her question was about. Clearly, she was reprimanding Peter, even if she had used an odd-sounding name. He caught the eye of another woman, one who looked quite similar in appearance to the Tunisians and Algerians he had met or worked with while in North Africa, particularly the nomads. Her face was a warm, tanned brown, and slightly weather-beaten. She had sharp features that suggested severity and a no-nonsense demeanor, a hypothesis that was borne out by her words.

“Ityos. No scaring the new love of Aniceytyos. You can interrogate him later. Welcome your new brother-in-law instead.” Aedan snorted, mentally amending his perception of this other woman to include a sense of humor. His amusement seemed to destroy the last of the tension remaining, though there was still an oppressive sense of power buzzing.

“Ityos” twitched a brief smile in his direction before turning to Peter and giving him an expectant look. His lover cleared his throat and began introductions. By the end of them, Aedan was more than a bit grateful he was Irish, and therefore already had a good memory for lots of names at once.

There was Eddie, Peter’s sister, her fellow Anastasiy, their two children Amyntas and Charmion, both almost grown—apparently the children lived mostly with their father, which made sense considering their mother was to most eyes seventeen. Then there was another sister, Lucy, her girl Drusila , her husband Tuli’us, three adults that were apparently their children, and a baby Lucy was holding. Then Susan and Doyle he’d already met, but not Susan's three grown children surrounding her. In addition to all of them, there was an older couple, Euphranor and Aurelia and a younger man named Easy.

Aedan’s head was still beginning to spin at the end of Peter’s recitation. Drusila, who felt even less human than the Pevensies, noticed his overwhelmed appearance and chivvied him over to another room with the other partners as Eddie began to truly shout at Peter. Aedan could still hear the shouting after the heavy door was closed, but the words were muted. He collapsed in an armchair and took a couple quiet breaths, rubbing his forehead. He was fairly certain the Pevensies were more intense than his family, but they did appear to get along better, thankfully. When he felt like looking up again, Doyle was giving him wry a look, though he seemed to be hiding slight disbelief and shock behind his. Drusila muttered something to Tuli’us who dragged Doyle over to Anastasiy and the children. Most of the others joined the two men, but Drusila folded herself into the armchair across from Aedan, pulling chair closer. She smiled at him, and propped her chin on her hand.

“Aniceytyos has always been impulsive. His talents never have lain in the direction of prudence and patience.” Aedan frowned, pinching the bridge of his nose before dropping his hand tiredly over the chair’s padded arm.

“I’m more’n aware of Peter’s tendencies, Mrs…” Her smile widened, and she chuckled shortly before saying,

“Why you are polite! I have the impression indeed you will last. I suppose if we were being proper you should call me Mrs. Pevensie or Lady Drusila. However, seeing as you are my new brother-in-law, feel free to call me simply Drusila.” From over by the children, Doyle snorted.

“I have been around for almost two years and a half, and you still won’t let me call you that.” Drusila smirked in his direction, somehow managing to embed a threat into the action.

“Wing Commander Doyle, that would be due to two reasons. The first being I am still unsure of your tenure with us considering your initial behavior, and the second being that you neither have a title of your own nor are you married to Dora.” Doyle sputtered, and Aedan hid a smile behind his mouth while his mind was whirling. He rubbed his eyes as Drusila turned back to him.

“L-Drusila, would ye mind explainin’ to me what on God’s green earth is going on?”

“Of course, it is no trouble at all,” she said kindly. ” Aedan blinked in surprise but listened politely as she continued.

* * *

Peter was not interested in arguing with his family. He wanted—no, he needed—to be with Aedan. Still, he pulled his attention away from the door when Ityos clicked her tongue. Unsurprisingly, his sister still had a disapproving look on her face. He sighed.

“Are you finished shouting at me yet, dear sister?” Her lips flattened as she settled herself on the floor.

“Are you ever planning to listen to my advice, or should I throw up my hands and give you up as a lost cause?” She asked sharply. Peter stiffened and began pacing; he knew better than to pick a fight with any of his family members, let alone Ityos. She was the one with the most terrifying temper, for all that it was quieter and slow to burn. It didn’t mean Peter wasn’t equally furious right now.

“I. Love. Him.” He dug his hands into his hair, fingers clenching into fists through his wind-tangled curls as he turned to match gazes with his sister, flat black eyes clashing with sparking gold ones. “It, I know I’m impulsive,” he said softly, almost pleadingly. “But he is important to me. More important than I ever thought a lover could be. I need him.” Ityos’s gaze finally softened, and she motioned for him to sit across from her. Aleyksi playfully nagged the rest of the family into sitting around them. A lump caught in Peter’s throat as Dyora leaned against him, placing a gentle hand on his knee, while Aleyksi mirrored her for Ityos. His middle sister blew out a long breath and squeezed Aleyksi’s hand before speaking, her voice quiet, but hoarse.

“Ani, the issue is not for your choice of lover. And I feel for you—love has always been a hurricane for you and I. But you poured your energy into him, you made a marriage vow, and it is quite clear that you have informed him of almost nothing. I just want you to think things through for once in your life, you great blundering wolf, before you leap in with your eyes and nose shut.”

Her words, and the truth in them, sliced through Peter, and he bent his head, eyes stinging. Dyora patted his knee comfortingly before clearing her throat.

“It, Almas is likely informing him of at least a little as of now. You saw how she took to him.”

“Yes, and that’s all very well, _Susan_ , but if our _dear_ wolf wishes to make a husband of this young man, there are many things only he can tell him,” Ityos hissed furiously

“I know, sister,” Dyora and Peter said at the same time. Ariyli’a snorted, drawing the glares of all of them minus Ufranyor, who had his head in his hands. She shook her head, her mouth twitching.

“All of you are far too similar in behavior. Even thee, little dragon,” she said, nodding to Hay’si, who flushed briefly. “But it is fair to say our Demokritos has a point, though she is politely not reminding thee of how little time thou hast to educate thy betrothed on what it means to be married to Narni'y’s High God.” Peter pinched the bridge of his nose, but wisely decided not to snap at his second mother.

“Ani…” Aleyksi said softly, drawing his attention to her; it was strange to hear his usually ebullient sister be so quiet. His nerves sang, and he knew his muscles would ache when he stood, but he nodded at her in acknowledgement. “You must tell him what your power, your blood has done to him, what it means. This is not one of your typical enjoyable affairs. You have bound him forever to you even if that was not your intent, and without his consent.” Peter slammed his fist against his thigh.

“Shite.” Ityos gave him a knowing look, though her voice was sympathetic as she said,

“Now do you understand my anger? You should have realized this yourself.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am writing the attraction, sex scenes and romance as someone on the ace spectrum. If something seems offensive or inaccurate, please let me know (politely). However, some of the language reflects both the time period and characterization of individuals, so please keep that in mind. The title of the chapter is from Tolstoy’s War and Peace.


	5. That Muddled Promise of Spring (This Is Not The Time For Salvos and Prophecies)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and Steve are both noble idiots. Bucky and Aedan want their boyfriends to stop making their lives more difficult.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title from “What We Don’t Talk About When We Talk About Love” by Damir Sodan. 
> 
> I fudged the timeline a little bit, moving Steve’s rescue mission up to late September rather than November, so Steve has time to get actual training in. Let’s say he got sick of Brandt sooner/traveled to Europe sooner.

_Late October 1943, Allied Base_

Steven Grant Rogers, recently-made lieutenant-colonel of an international commando unit, didn’t intend to be eavesdropping on his soon-to-be colleague, but in his defense, he’d been leaning against the wall near the door before the shouting began. Glancing around at his team and the people he assumed were members of the British unit, it seemed pretty obvious that everyone else could hear the shouting, though Steve was fairly certain he was the only one who could make out the actual words. He was momentarily distracted by the antics of one of the Brits (and few ladies), who seemed to be Peggy’s counterpart. She had violently red hair (though Steve wasn’t going to be rude enough to ask if it was dyed) and was currently flirting rather overtly with Morita. Steve had to hold back a snort. Falsworth—or “Monty,” as he had insisted upon—was barely bothering to control his twitching lips. Jones was straight-faced, but he had a twinkle in his eye, and was muttering in French to Dernier. Bucky looked vastly amused but thankfully wasn’t outright chuckling. Even though most of the others seemed inclined to mind their own shit, Morita’s wide-eyed panic and Dugan’s reddening face indicated trouble might be on the horizon. Before Steve could decide whether or not to step in, one of the Brits—who appeared to actually be American, from the South at that (much to Steve’s shock; he’d heard the stories from his friends in Harlem about the South)—smacked Dugan up the head and quietly said something in his ear before dragging Dugan away to another clump of people. Morita relaxed considerably after that, even flirting back, though he still had a slight expression of disbelief on his face. Buck looked up and over at Steve, raising a brow. All he could do was shrug and make a mental note to learn that Southerner’s name.

A particularly sharp word drew his attention back to the people in the next room.

“Oh no, you gobshite, don’t ye dare Aedan me now. I can’t even say how feckin’ pissed I am at ye and Ciaran right now.” Steve blinked. He hadn’t heard language like that since his last night home. Sure, everyone cursed, it was the army, after all, but the sheer Irish flavor of this Aedan’s language made him more than a bit homesick. But he began to be more than a bit concerned for this mysterious Irishman’s safety when a new, equally Irish voice broke through.

“Why the feck is it my fault, Aedan? I’m not the eejit who started this mess. No, that’s on ye and the Captain here.” Steve tensed. It sounded like this Aedan had just gone off on his commanding officer, and this Ciaran had just blamed the third man as well. There was no way this would end well. Then the third man spoke, much easier to identify now that all three had apparently switched from shouting to snapping at each other.

“Both of you, stop getting on each other’s backs. Ciaran, I thought you were finished criticizing your brother and I for our choices. Didn’t we settle all of that back in Dublin?” There was a low mutter, indistinct even to Steve’s super hearing, but it must have been an assent, because the new, tired-sounding voice, with an accent that definitely didn’t sound British, said, “Ciaran. Most of this was my fault. The vow I made to you when you stood in your father’s stead, and what I neglected to inform Aedan.” There was a short pause. “Aedan has every reason to be furious with the both of us. But it can’t interfere with carrying out our duties, especially when we’re working with this new international unit. Do you hear me?” Steve heard a soft, indistinct murmur that was cut off suddenly, and a quiet gagging sound before quickly having to wipe his puzzled frown off his face as footsteps approached the door.

The first thing Steve said when he got his first look at his new fellow lieutenant-colonel was:

“You’re only eighteen?!” His face was hot, and he could hear Bucky’s faint snickering. After having a good chuckle, the other lieutenant-colonel said, his eyes warm,

“Lieutenant-Colonel Peter Pevensie. I see you’ve seen my file. You are quite the observer, Lieutenant-Colonel Rogers..” He turned to the two men beside him. “This is my right hand man, Sergeant Aedan O’Brien.” Pevensie indicated the black-eyed man to his left. “And his brother Sergeant Ciaran O’Brien, who will be my unit’s Quartermaster.” He indicated the blue-eyed man on his right. Steve nodded politely. Ciaran O’Brien looked almost exactly like his brother, the only difference being their eyes and a slightly wider face. After Pevensie pointed out a lordly type with a flat expression as his Lieutenant, a man by the name of Arrington, Steve figured he’d better return the favor, and motioned Bucky, Monty, and Schotten over.

Much to Steve’s confusion, both Monty and Arrington seemed a bit shocked on seeing each other.

“James?!” They both said at the same time. The other two James in the room snorted, and Steve couldn’t help grinning a little himself. He wasn’t all that surprised when Monty turned around to inform them he and Arrington were cousins, especially when he remembered Monty was a member of the British peerage. It was easy to forget most of the time, since the lone Brit in his unit didn’t put on airs.

The rest of the introduction proceeded fairly normally, even that of the British Colonel Courland to Colonel Phillips. And Phillips didn’t like most people.

Mostly, they all adjusted to each other over the next few weeks. Sometimes they worked together, sometimes they worked with other groups. But the one thing Steve couldn’t forget about was the conversation he’d overheard when they first met.

Sure, Pevensie didn’t seem like a bad guy. But Steve was all too familiar with the way in which those in power acted with those they perceived as their superiors or equals, and those they saw as inferior. Not to mention, he identified with the O’Briens. Where they didn’t remind him of his own life, they reminded him of his mother’s.

Still, Bucky had clicked with the two other sergeants, spending a lot of time with them. Time Steve couldn’t, not if he didn’t want to start rumors or make them uncomfortable. There was nothing. Even when they were drunk, the O’Brien brothers didn’t say anything unflattering about Pevensie. Despite all that, Steve couldn’t bring himself to let go. Not completely.

* * *

 

_Early November 1943, somewhere in Central Europe_

“ _Sergent Petit?_ ” Bucky spun around, forcing himself to relax as he recognized the erstwhile French Resistance fighter in front of him. Not for the first time, he was impressed by Rot’s composure. The woman didn’t even flinch with his rifle in her face. He slowly lowered it, tilting his head.

“ _Qu’est-ce que c’est, madame ?_ ” He asked. She pulled out her own rifle after making sure her hair was still pinned and tied back. Bucky still didn’t understand how women could stay so put together even on the front.

“ _Le Roi wants to speak with you and La Drapeau about our next mission_ ,” she said, making an impatient motion when he didn’t immediately move to the center of camp. Bucky repressed a smile and nodded politely to her as he headed to the command tent. He still found her way of giving them all code names amusing, even if his was a little demeaning. At least Stevie’s was just as embarrassing. Oddly, Lt.-Colonel Pevensie’s seemed particularly fitting. As did Ciaran O’Brien’s; Le Frère. Aedan O’Brien’s, on the other hand, inclined Bucky to certain conclusions, and made him a little worried about Rot’s observation skills—Le Compagnon.

He sighed a little as he holstered his rifle on his back and began jogging back to the command tent, wondering what Pevensie could want with him as well as Steve. Sure, everyone knew he was Steve’s right-hand man, but he was still only a sergeant. He wondered if that meant Aedan and the Quartermasters were going to be there too.

Bucky slowed as he got closer, stopping when he saw what looked like the beginnings of a fight between Dum Dum and Jim. Unsurprisingly, it mostly looked like Dum Dum trying to intimidate the other man. Bucky sighed, and made his way over.

“Dugan. What are ya doin’?” Dum Dum stiffened, turning to face Bucky, his reddening face greatly contrasting with his bushy ginger beard.

“None of your business, Barnes.” Bucky resisted the urge to punch the fat-head in the face. Dum Dum could be a decent guy—sometimes—but he could get oddly hung up on propriety for a man that immediately found a dame in every town they stopped in. He seemed to have a vendetta for Jim ever since Agent McBride flirted with him. Frankly, Bucky couldn’t care less what Jim and McBride were doing as long as neither of them caused an international incident.

“Fine. You don’t seem ta be doin’ nothin’ much Dugan, so I’m sure you won’t mind helping Jerry do inventory.” Dum Dum grumbled, but after Bucky glared at him a bit more, he jogged off toward the quartermaster’s tent. Bucky watched him go before turning back to Jim, who looked a little exasperated. He swatted him amiably on the shoulder.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. You can take care of yourself. Well, we all can, and I think of you as a friend, Jim.” His friend and comrade fought a smile and shoved him gently.

“Thanks, Bucky. For not making a big fuss.” Bucky shrugged.

“I remember Stevie’s fights when he was smaller’n you. Redirection causes less problems.” The two friends stood silently for a few moments before Bucky cleared his throat, all seriousness.

“Jim…I haveta meet with Steve and Pevensie.” He hesitated. “How bad’s Dum Dum been?” It was Jim’s turn to shrug. He looked down, scuffing his boot on the near-frozen ground.

“It’s only been words, if that’s what you’re asking. But he’s pissing the Brits off. They don’t all like me with Coll—Agent McBride, but they’re much more of a mix than we are. They find him “uncouth and insulting” when he gets on his tirades.” Bucky ran a hand through his hair and sighed.

“Great. You were quoting, weren’tcha?” Jim nodded, looking as tired as Bucky felt. They were in the middle of enemy territory. They needed allies, not more enemies. “I’ll tell the lieutenant-colonels, and we’ll get somethin’ sorted out.” With that, he sped up, not wanting to waste anymore time getting to the command tent.

* * *

 

Ciaran O’Brien looked warily at the three “Howling Commandos” across the table from him before resisting the urge to groan. He just knew something had to break at some point. He wasn’t quite sure what had been the breaking point, but there was something. He glanced over at Pevensie and Aedan, which didn’t help his mood any. The two of them had finally begun working things out again—he did not want to know how, thank you very much!—but they were hinting a soppiness again. Which was both nauseating (in a rather saccharine way) and dangerous. At least Lieutenant Arrington was like the rest of the unit and didn’t care about anything Pevensie got up to in private as long as nobody set off his temper.

Thankfully, his comrades were equally as observant, and he didn’t have to start the conversation. Pevensie leaned forward across the table, catching Lieutenant-Colonel Rogers’ attention.

“Rogers. I believe there is something you need to say to me. I would appreciate your saying it before you explode at an inopportune time.” The cramped tent abruptly became even more tense. Lieutenant Falsworth winced, and Sergeant Barnes—Bucky—just looked very, very tired, and muttered something under his breath. Ciaran felt a sudden deep sympathy, particularly as the other man put a hand on Rogers’ shoulder in a clear attempt to calm him down. It didn’t work.

His face stormy, Rogers strode around the table. Ciaran tried not to gulp. It had become even clearer that Rogers wasn’t human either in the last few weeks, and right now it was particularly obvious. He shared a quick look with Lieutenant Arrington, who nodded stiffly, and they both yanked Aedan back just as the Lieutenant-Colonel reached Pevensie. 

* * *

 

It was eerie how similar the two commanders looked standing across from each other, Bucky thought. Both tall, muscled, and golden, the only major difference being eye color. He held his breath as Stevie spoke, not having missed the looks in the eyes of the Brits. They were _not_ happy.

“What the hell are ya doin’ with the O’Briens, Pevensie? I heard that fight at the base, and I’ve noticed how none o’ your unit complains, ‘specially not those two. It’s suspicious.” Bucky wanted to bang his head against a wall. Or a pole. He wasn’t picky. Heck, at this point, a tree would do. Evidently Monty felt the same from the muttered curses emanating from Bucky’s right.

But Bucky kept his attention on the two commanders despite his frustration and mortification, and so didn’t miss Pevensie’s initially just completely bewildered expression before it changed to a flat, blank mask that made the hairs on the back of his neck rise. Oddly, Bucky could swear he heard a wolf howling. He shook himself mentally, still slightly terrified, and looked over at Ciaran, Aedan, and Arrington. He blinked, wondering if he was seeing things.

All three of them looked furious, and it appeared as if Ciaran and Arrington were trying to hold Aedan back. Bucky very much wanted to protect Stevie from his own stupidity right now, but he had the feeling all four of the Brits would as soon as kill either of them as look at them right now. There was no way it would end well, even with Stevie’s new strength.

The rapidly increasing tension was broken by an unexpected source when Pevensie began laughing. Bucky was far from the only one staring in confusion. He only got more confused at Aedan’s reaction. The other sergeant had his head in his hands and was groaning under his breath in what sounded a lot like Gaelic.

After a few long uncomfortable minutes of Pevensie’s laughter, Aedan straightened up, walked over to Pevensie and smacked the back of his head. Bucky blanched, and took a step back. Even with his guesses about the relationship between the two men, he still expected Pevensie to get thoroughly furious at such blatant disrespect in front of Americans (even though Monty was technically British and related to Arrington anyway). What he didn’t expect was for Pevensie to stop laughing abruptly as he’d begun and look distinctly sheepish. The British commander leaned over to mutter something into Arrington’s ear. The lieutenant pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, saying something that sounded a lot like,

“Probably not, we’re British. Still illegal though. But your funeral Captain, I won’t stop you.” Bucky frowned, even more confused…was Arrington saying what he thought he was saying? Pevensie nodded and shared a look with Aedan before they both glanced over at Ciaran. Ciaran looked very tired. He shrugged, rubbing his eyes, and both Aedan and Pevensie turned back to Stevie, who was now looking extremely pissed, and about as confused as Bucky felt.

“I…believe Aedan and I owe you an explanation, Lieutenant-Colonel. Neither of us had any idea you had overheard our initial conversation.” Pevensie sounded unusually hesitant, as if he was reluctant to go into more detail. From the less furious, but very expectant expression on Stevie’s face, Bucky doubted his best friend was going to let it go at that. Clearly, both Aedan and Pevensie had noticed that as well, because the British commander cleared his throat and continued. “I respect both Aedan and his brother deeply. However, when love enters into the equation everything becomes much more complicated. Especially as our previous mission was so chaotic, and it caused me to entangle myself in a bit of a mess when it came to honesty and rational behavior.” Bucky stared wordlessly at Pevensie, shocked. The man had just said that. Out loud. In an international military camp. In front of five different men who could have had him, and Aedan court-martialed.

* * *

 

Aedan was trying very hard not to panic. He was very glad the American quartermaster was busy. There were already way too many people who held his life and freedom in their hands in here. It wasn’t helping that all three of the Americans had been shocked speechless by Peter’s words. Sure, Lieutenant-Colonel Rogers didn’t look furious anymore, but it wasn’t like a frozen stare was a much better reaction.

He didn’t realize he was leaning into Peter until a warm hand captured one of his, and his lover spoke in his mind.

 _Aedan, my heart. It will all be fine. I will not let anything happen to you._ That didn’t actually do much for Aedan’s peace of mind.

 _And what about you?_ He asked tartly in the same manner. Peter’s lips thinned, and his bright eyes darkened as he very pointedly didn’t answer and looked away from Aedan’s focused gaze. Aedan blew out an irritated breath. He wasn’t panicking anymore, but he was—once again—pissed at the man he was falling in love with. Granted, he didn’t think he’d as of yet completely gotten rid of his anger at Peter for irrevocably tying them together without his consent, but this whole mess was only bringing it up to the surface again.

An explosive combination of furious and terrified, Aedan threw a closer look around the rest of the tent, leaving his hand in Peter’s. He needed the comfort, and it couldn’t make things much worse. Hopefully.

Lieutenant Arrington and Lieutenant Falsworth both looked frustrated, but thankfully Falsworth didn’t look disgusted—maybe a bit surprised, but that was it. He chewed the inside of his cheek nervously as he turned to Bucky. He had begun to consider the other sergeant a friend, and he worried that this revelation would have dashed the burgeoning relationship to pieces.

The American’s expression wasn’t particularly reassuring, as the other man looked carefully blank as he gazed at Peter. Aedan had no idea what that meant. Was Bucky disgusted? Pissed at Peter? Just shocked at the way he blurted it out? Clearly, the American sergeant was thinking something heavy. Equally clearly, he had no intention of revealing his thoughts to anyone, at least for the moment.

* * *

 

Steve Rogers had a headache. One that was quickly growing, caused by the profound realization that he was a complete fat-head. He could have just talked to Pevensie in private, but no, he’d flipped, and now he had legal issues on his hands. Why did the Army put him in charge of a whole unit again, he asked himself? Oh yeah, because he had a habit of doing extremely stupidly brave things that somehow worked.

He glanced over at Sergeant Aedan O’Brien, ignoring the glare at his right from Buck, and winced. The man looked resignedly miserable.

Steve sighed, ignoring the fact that his cheeks were probably bright red with embarrassment right now, and leaned forward across the table. He hated apologizing, but this was definitely all his fault. It was a good thing all the upper brass were back at the base right now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the reason Peter and Steve have the ranks they do is because commando units weren’t led by captains (or majors, for that matter), but lieutenant-colonels in both the UK and the USA.  
> “Rot” is not her real name, though it does give a hint as to where she’s from (the traditional flag of Alsace is “Rot un Weiss,” or “Red and White”).   
> Guys, I like Dum Dum, and I think he can learn, I just also think he’s the kind of guy who will be friends with minorities, but only to a point. We’ve all met, and some of us have been those type of people. Don’t worry, he’s going to get a talking to, even if it’s not onscreen. 
> 
> Look, Steve is smart, but we all know he lets his sense of righteousness get ahead of his common sense sometimes. Plus, he’s still really young, and that conversation he overheard would have been concerning to anyone without context. Not to mention, canonically Bucky’s the responsible one. 
> 
> Peter can be the same type of noble idiot as Steve.


End file.
